cello; and then as he studied the huge golden harp, the smile came back, so clearly ecstatic that the female violinist smiled at him and the old grey-haired male cellist seemed vaguely amused.
They must have thought him a deaf mute as he stepped up and laid his fingers right on the cello, drawing back at the power of the vibration, then touching it again.
"Oooh, Julie," he whispered aloud.
Everyone was looking. Even the waiters were glancing at them in obvious alarm. But nobody dared question the handsome gentleman in Lawrence's best suit and silk waistcoat, even when he shuddered all over and clamped his hands to the sides of his head.
She tugged on him. He wouldn't budge. "Julie, such sounds!" he whispered.
"Then dance with me, Ramses," she said.
No one else was dancing, but what did that matter? There was the dance floor, and she felt like dancing. She felt like dancing more than anything in the world.
Baffled, he looked at her, then allowed himself to be turned, and his hand to be taken properly as she slipped her arm about his waist.
"Now, this is the way the man leads the woman," she said, beginning the waltz step and moving him easily. "My hand should really be on your shoulder. I shall move, and you ... that's it. But allow me to lead."
They turned faster and faster, Ramses following her lead beautifully, only glancing down now and then at his feet. Another couple had joined them; then came another. But Julie didn't see them; she saw only Ramses' rapt face, and the way his eyes moved over the commonplace treasures of the room. It was a haze suddenly, the candles, the gilded fan blades turning above, the drowsing flowers on the tables, and the shimmer of silver everywhere, and the music surrounding them, the music carrying them along ever faster.
He laughed out loud suddenly. "Julie, like music poured from a goblet. Like music that has become wine."
She turned him rapidly in small circles.
"Revolution!" he cried out.
She threw back her head and laughed.
Quite suddenly it was over. There must have been a finale. All she knew was that it was finished, and that he was about to kiss her, and she didn't want him to stop. But he hesitated. He noted the other couples leaving. He took her hand.
"Yes, time to go," she said.
The night outside was cold and foggy. She gave the doorman a few coins. She wanted a hansom.
Ramses paced back and forth, staring at the crowds of commercial travellers coming and going from motor cars and carriages, at the newsboy dashing up to him with the latest edition.
"Mummy's Curse in Mayfair!" the boy cried shrilly. "Mummy Rises from the Grave!"
Before she could reach him, Ramses had snatched the paper from the boy. Flustered, she gave the child a coin.
There it was all right, the whole silly scandal. An ink sketch of Henry running away from her front stairs.
"Your cousin," Ramses said gloomily. " 'Mummy's Curse Strikes Again ...' " he read slowly.
"No one believes it! It's a joke."
He continued to read: "Gentlemen of the British Museum say that the Ramses collection is entirely safe and will be returned to the museum soon." He paused. "Museum," he said. "Explain this word museum. What is the museum, a tomb?"
The poor girl was miserable, Samir could see it. He ought to go. But he had to see Julie. And so he waited in the drawing room, sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa, refusing Rita's third offer of coffee, tea, or wine.
Now and then he glanced down the length of the house to see the gleaming Egyptian coffin. If only Rita did not stand there, but clearly she was not going to leave him alone.
The museum had been closed for hours. But she wanted him to see it. She let the cab go and followed him to the iron fence. He gripped the pickets as he looked up at the door and the high windows. The street was dark, deserted. And a light rain had begun to fall.
"There are many mummies inside," she said. "Your mummy, it would have gone here eventually. Father worked for the British Museum, though he paid his own costs."
"Mummies of Kings and Queens of Egypt?"
"There are more in Egypt, actually. A mummy of Ramses the Second has been there for years in a glass case."